Last Ones Out
by mazie
Summary: Five years later. They dance slowly into the night, and laugh themselves silly. They trip a little too hard in love and fall on the hardwood floor. Being just friends is the biggest lie they'll tell the world, and the biggest lie they'll tell each other. [Tike/Post-Series]
1. three cheers for five years

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee because if I did, I wouldn't have to be writing this.**

**Title from Two Slow Dancers by Mitski.**

* * *

_won't you promise me that you'll never forget  
to keep dancing wherever we go next_

**THEN.**

They tell each other it isn't goodbye, and they close their eyes shut against all the promises they won't be able to keep. They are not empty promises, but impossible ones.

He kisses her again, slow and lingering, like he misses her already.

**FIVE YEARS AGO.**

Everyone else is in New York, or somewhere that isn't where she is.

He told her he transferred to Juilliard last semester, so he's in New York, too. He tells her stories of his legendary professors and the immense talent of his classmates and how his roommate pulled a Rachel Berry and left mid-semester to join the national tour of _The Phantom of the Opera_.

So, all her friends are in New York now.

Brown is still the best place for her. She stands by that. Even if the workload doesn't let her see any of them outside of screens — or at all, if life is being especially cruel.

When she does find the time, she goes home instead.

Her parents are happy to see her, of course they are. She goes to see Sam and Mr. Schue and whatever is new with the New Directions. They ask her questions; they sing her songs. She stays three days before she gets restless and goes back to Rhode Island.

Whatever it is she's looking for, it isn't in Ohio.

Maybe it isn't anywhere.

Maybe it's in New York.

**FOUR YEARS AGO.**

He's barely a year out of school when Mercedes gives him a call. He takes her up on her offer of a national tour. Rehearsals are in Los Angeles, and he considers why not actually moving there? It's as good a place as any to get his start as a dancer. His parents protest, but in the end, they let him off at the airport with a hug.

Most his family in California are on his mother's side, and Julia Chang is quick to tell them her son is coming. Peter and Roseanne, two of his cousins, ambush him at the airport as soon as he arrives. His grandmother flies in from San Francisco and cooks him a whole welcome feast. His uncle Robert lets him stay in his house until he finds a place of his own, because uncle Robert is in Europe right now and it's not like anyone is using the house anyway.

He reconnects with cousins he hasn't hung out with in years, either since the last family holiday or since he moved to Ohio when he was a kid. When you're an only child, cousins are the closest thing you get to siblings. It's just that he has a lot of them, and that's not even counting the step-cousins from Aunt Tess's second marriage.

They have lunch together every Sunday, on a quest to find the best Chinese food in Southern California that isn't made by Nai Nai. They eat ice cream on the couch and discuss baby names with Peter's very pregnant wife. They go to the beach for spring break when the other cousins come flooding in from whatever college campus they've been fermenting on, and he watches them all surf while he stands waist deep in the waves with his baby niece in his arms.

When he isn't hanging out with family, he's doing rehearsals with Brittany and Mercedes and working on music videos in between. He and Britt dance and choreograph for Just Dance 2017, which is something he's particularly proud of.

These are all the things he tells her when they talk, which is unfortunately not as often as either of them would like. He even mails her a signed copy of Just Dance 2017, knowing his signature is worth nothing.

She talks about her studies and impending graduation, and her weekends out with Quinn because New England Ivy Girls stick together. He talks about the sunshine and beaches and how much he misses his cousins and his niece and new nephew — whose birth he missed because he was on tour.

He says he misses her, too.

**THREE YEARS AGO.**

It all starts to fizzle out somewhere between her last year of college and their ensuing careers.

He stops sending her pictures of menus with chicken feet salad in them — which she _did_ tell him to do, because it's a dragged out inside joke no matter how endearing it is. She doesn't tell him that she's followed their friends to New York, but he wishes her well when he finds out and she knows he means it.

They haven't been in the same room together since the wedding. The most they interact now is the occasional Instagram tag because he's an avid participant of #tbt and #fbf. The old behind-the-scenes rehearsal pictures and group photos let nostalgia hit her like a truck. The more recent photos she sees when she scrolls through her feed hit her with something else entirely.

He was attractive as a boy in Lima, god she _knows_ that, but time with the Southern California sun has been kind to him. There are pictures of him grinning with his cousins with the palm trees behind them, the waves, the beach at sunset. It shouldn't be that big of a deal when she likes those posts, or when she comments to ask what it's like out there. It's not like she has plans to go to California. At least not any time soon.

She's just made it _to_ New York, and if she plays her cards right, she'll make it _in_ New York, too. The hustle and competition of being a performer in this city is daunting, exhausting, and not for the insecure. If confidence is key, she is sure she already has it.

She is surprisingly hopeful for the future; and she wonders where she'll be in a year, _who_ she'll be, if it's anything or anyone. Because everyone she knows is on the verge of being someone.

(He'll always be someone, to her.)

She wonders if she'll have the strength to properly let the past go, even though she probably already knows the answer.

**TWO YEARS AGO.**

He's visiting his grandparents with his mother in San Francisco when he gets the call. It's some of his old friends from Joffrey who saw him in a music video last night, and they have a dance studio they'd like him to help with. It's not as attractive a job as what he already does in LA, but he takes it. If not to be a lot closer to his parents.

He runs into another cousin while he's in SF. (One of the spring-break-visit cousins, naturally. Not the SoCal ones.) She's looking for a fresh start, and he offers one two thousand miles away in the Windy City. Or, his mother does. But hey, it's one less family member he has to say goodbye to. And it saves him the trouble of finding a roommate.

In early November, they fly out to Chicago to meet with the realtor and sign a lease for a townhouse in a reasonably sketchy neighborhood for an equally reasonable price. They come back to California to say goodbye to the beach, the cousins, the niece and nephew who he'll probably miss the most. Neither of them has too many belongings, so they pack up in his Jeep and drive.

He offhandedly mentions once before they leave that a week-long road trip in the middle of freaking November would make an interesting vlog. He does not count on the idea being so well-received. The events of the trip are well-documented on his cousin's camera, and also heavily edited for the sake of Nai Nai and his mother. It's entertaining, as much as a kind of cross-country road trip in November can be.

Other moments don't end up on camera though. Talks about choices, failures and regret; about succeeding in the dance industry or leaving law school. Failing is never the problem, they decide. It's the regret, for all the years and time and energy they would have or did put into doing something they don't want. They laugh in the face of all the expectations that were laid on them as children.

Finally, his cousin tells him about how she hopes that Chicago will give her the space to discover what she wants and what she should be. She tells him he's lucky that he figured all of that out when he was younger, but twenty-four isn't a bad age to start. He's lucky he doesn't have to deal with regret.

He's giving up being a professional dancer in LA to teach and choreograph at a dance studio halfway across the country, but he doesn't think he'll regret it at all.

**SIXTEEN MONTHS AGO.**

It's been months since they've spoken. No emails, no texts, no calls. But she still can't let him go completely, and maybe it's her way of punishing herself for not trying harder, but she keeps tabs on him.

She follows his career through online posts and magazines she sees in newsstands and grocery store lines. She watches his choreography come to life on viral videos online and his name drift in and out of casts and credits, but she never hears of him without having to look. He's a niche interest and there's not a lot on the internet. There's more news of his dance studio than there is about him.

Where is he? Chicago. What is he doing? Dancing. But she doesn't _really_ know where he is, or what he's doing… or who he's with. His Instagram stories show him with his friends, with his new dog — Chaplin, according to his captions — and with some girl named 'Anne' who steals his phone between videos. His girlfriend, maybe? Not that it matters to her.

(It's his cousin, and though the off-screen teasing and easy smiles throw her off, she should _know better_ than to assume if people are related or not.)

She finds out about the recital at Carnegie Hall one day, and she almost drops everything. She plans to go see him, though it hurts that he doesn't tell her about it. For all the miles and years and unsaid things between them, she feels that Carnegie Hall is something that he should have told her about. Maybe they could have gone for coffee while he was in New York for rehearsals. Maybe.

She learns through some expert asking around that Matt and Brittany, and therefore, Santana, will be there. Mercedes can't go because of her tour, but she did tell Sam about it, who told Blaine, and by extension Kurt, who told Rachel and _then _told her. There are only so many seats to be given away, so it's Blaine who buys her the ticket. Let the glorified Glee Club reunion begin.

She wonders whether to go visit before or after the performance, one way or another like everyone else. After careful deliberation, she settles for just seeing him during from the balcony. Because it may be just a dance, a night, a phone call, but there's always been something there and she knows that he could become her entire world if she let him. She shouldn't let him.

And when he's on stage, and she's sitting there with her friends, she watches and maybe just a little, she sees herself in every pirouette he makes and every partner he holds. She breathes in the stage lights and anticipation, and for a moment forgets the person that she is and sees the person he's become. Then she closes her eyes, because she stopped being that girl a long time ago.

Everyone goes to see him backstage and celebrate, but she chooses to step outside. It's almost spring, and it shouldn't be this cold, but it is and it's just one more thing that doesn't feel right to her.

**TWELVE MONTHS AGO.**

Meeting new people and making friends has never been his strong suit. The state of his relationships with most of his old friends lessens his motivation to try. The past year in Chicago has been okay, but any new friendships formed from then are either temporary or born of convenience.

He's not even that good at holding on to old friendships. In the years that have passed, the only friends he's held on to are Mercedes and Brittany. That speaks more to their extraordinary dedication, not his. He's not the kind of guy to make the first move, he's been told.

It's a special case for his old classmates from Joffrey and Juilliard, though, since he's making the first move to invite them to be guest instructors at the studio, which is a business arrangement, and then they'd go out after for coffee or something and catch up. Other than that, everyone makes the first move for him. Thank god they do.

Matt Rutherford once made a spontaneous visit some months ago. Rachel Berry came to Chicago one time to 'take in the city' before a concert performance of select _Chicago_ songs at Feinstein's/54 Below, which he admits was a weird encounter entirely. The most recent is Sam, whose visit comes off as spontaneous like Matt's until he learns that Mercedes' next city is Chicago.

He mostly enjoys the time he gets to spend with old friends, and he loves introducing them to Chaplin. There hasn't been a friend of his that his dog has not fallen in love with on sight. And there hasn't been a friend of his that Anne has not appropriated into one of her own either — because she's better at this game than he is.

So maybe he's bad at making new friends; the ones he already has haven't written him out as a lost cause yet. (Well… _most_ of them.)

**EIGHT MONTHS AGO.**

Carnegie Hall is a footnote. There are feelings of regret that come with it, but it isn't clear to her what part of it she actually regrets. Is it that she didn't go to see him? Or that she went to see him at all? Sometimes when she is restless and sleepless, she thinks of him. But she doesn't punish herself anymore by looking him up. It will be easier, she finds, to leave him a ghost in her past, the one who got away.

When Artie asks her to let it go — let _him_ go — and come to Los Angeles with him, she says yes. And she leaves behind the success she's already found on the streets of Broadway, because it's really hard to be in New York right now and not feel any regret. She needs a new sun, and a new ocean and sky.

There is no exact point when or where, but little by little, feelings of friendship find their way back to being feelings of love. Pact be damned.

If only that makes everything else easier.

Weeks on end, she gets up every morning, standing in line with other people cut out of the same Hollywood dreams. She has to compete with the ambitions of others and with the gravity pulling her to just fade into the crowd. Why can't it be easy for her like it is for any of her friends? There it is again, the same feeling of being left behind. Again, she auditions for another role she probably won't get. Because that's just how the industry is for someone with her face: unkind. Even if she has several theatre credits to her name. She figures she'll probably have more success in a costuming department; such is life.

Things start looking up when she gets signed on to an agency. The roles are small; half of them aren't even speaking roles, but it won't do any good to be bitter about that. She turns down stereotype roles on principle though. She knows she literally cannot afford to be picky, but hopefully she'll get to that point soon.

Artie probably picks up on her frustrations, because he asks her to come to Vancouver with him. But she knows full well that he's only giving her the role because Mercedes isn't available. Relieving her audition season issues are a bonus.

This is not her break. Not yet.

**FOUR MONTHS AGO.**

The success of the dance studio, while appreciated, is unexpected. Especially since it hasn't even been two years.

There are partnerships with brands, and talent scouts who find their new blood at the barre. Projects stream in for him and his students. The channel is one of the biggest choreography channels on YouTube, even though it started as something he and Anne threw together in their basement using iPhone footage. That makes for a good metaphor of this whole situation, actually.

The class structure and schedule have to be redesigned for the summer to accommodate new instructors, larger groups of students and then projects in between.

The studio has never been rigid with genre, and every class has an instructor teach their own style of choreography; that isn't going to change. But now there's going to be more classes going on at a time so they're taking full advantage of the building, _technique_ classes, things like that. Articles refer to the studio as the go-to place in the country for Asian-Americans in dance, and that's by far the part he likes most.

The growing success and fame of the dance studio should expectedly mean a bigger workload for him, not a smaller one, but somehow with the updated schedule, he finally has the time in his day to sit at the wrought-iron tables outside the café, and actually enjoy his drink in time to get home before his cousin kidnaps _his_ dog for another weekend out of the city because he isn't there to prevent it.

Even his nights are relaxed. Anne is gone for longer and more often, which puts the house in a calming silence where everything is still and soft and you can't hear the sounds of frustrated video editing. When things get way too quiet, he goes up to the roof. It's the perfect vantage point to watch as many stars as would come out in this city. (One of them up there must be Finn Hudson.)

He doesn't really _reminisce_ often. Nothing against his memory, which works fine; but when he thinks of the stars, then Finn, then the constellation that's become of their Glee Club, it always circles back to memories of black hair in streaks of blue and a name, whispered slowly, imploringly, through the night and into the dawn.

And it's not that he hasn't thought of her in the years. It's actually very easy not to think of her. That's the part he doesn't like.

But sometimes he does. If he tries hard enough, he can think about the touch of skin, the taste of lips; it's so silly to be caught in a moment and think of that time of minimum GPAs and high school sweethearts. It's sillier that he remembers it so well. He doesn't even remember the last time they spoke.

Then he has nothing to say — or maybe too much to say — and then no one to say it to.

**ONE MONTH AGO.**

She gets the call as soon as she's back in California, after the brief visit to New York to watch Rachel accept her Tony, and then later get drunk together at the afterparty to celebrate. The casting agency couldn't reach her because she'd been on a plane for the past few hours, but at their last attempt at ringing her, she finally picks up.

She's got the part.

It's for a TV show. The pilot was shot last February (she was not there) and it was given a whole season order. She loved the script as soon as she read it. She's also 70% certain that she messed up half her lines in the audition and made up the other half, but she's still got the part.

Well, not _the_ part. Not the one she auditioned for. But it's _a_ part, and a sizable one at that. Recurring, with the possibility of a bigger role. She's very dedicated to attending table reads, and that gives her the insight that she'll be a very present character even if she isn't a regular.

Most of the pre-production takes place in Los Angeles, but they'll be filming in a more urban environment instead of a standard Los Angeles studio set. She is no stranger to spending time on location for a production, even if her experience is limited. She remembers Vancouver fondly, when she and Artie were filming for his movie. The coming months won't be like that.

The two of them have a talk, and he reveals that he's been greenlit for an international project that will film on location in at _least_ nine different countries, and he was hoping to invite her along. The timing can't be more surreal, or ironically convenient. She's already decided she can't make him wait for her, and it's now apparently going to be a two-way waiting game.

As much growing up as she's done in the recent years, she still isn't a big believer in long distance relationships. She just isn't a long-distance kind of person. And there's obviously no way either of them would give up a project just so they won't be apart. Their lives are moving in different directions, in different places. It feels like a natural stopping point.

Artie tells her that he doesn't want to hurt her. She assures him he isn't, with the soft press of a kiss on his lips. She might miss kissing him. And it is true, there's no hurt. There's no regret either. Only two people who care about each other enough to be willing to let go.

Like almost everyone else in her life, she agrees to being friends.

There would probably be a different conversation if she tells him the show films in Chicago. But it's been long enough that even she doesn't realize why that should matter.

**NOW.**

He whispers a _hey_ across a table that feels five years overdue.

* * *

**Songs for this whole montage are:**

**\- Architecture - Maisie Peters [THEN]**  
**\- Francis Forever - Mitski [FIVE YEARS AGO]**  
**\- Los Angeles - Luke Sital-Singh [FOUR YEARS AGO]**  
**\- Pâquerette - With Confidence [THREE YEARS AGO]**  
**\- Future Me - echosmith [TWO YEARS AGO]**  
**\- I Almost Do - Taylor Swift [SIXTEEN MONTHS AGO]**  
**\- Not What I Meant - dodie [EIGHT MONTHS AGO]**  
**\- Look At Me Now - Maisie Peters [FOUR MONTHS AGO]**  
**\- Some Other Me - If/Then [ONE MONTH AGO]**  
**\- Arms Unfolding - dodie [NOW]**


	2. away we happened

**oop.**

**New edits were made both to this chapter and chapter 3, involving moving heavy amounts of text around, fixing dialogue and even adding a whole new scene (bc i felt like it lol.)**

**It**** made more sense to post new versions of the chapters instead of just editing what was already there and hoping someone would notice****. This is all for wrapping up the whole 'first meeting' arc, so we can get the story running a lot more smoothly. ****I promise I'll try to make this happen less in the future.**

**Anyway, happy holidays! **

* * *

_this is how the story ends  
__or have we just begun_

**Mike claps his hands together** when he realizes that half the eyes in the room are less focused on the steps and more so on the clock over the door. It's a few minutes past the end of the session already. "Alright, y'all, I see you're getting a bit worn out so maybe it's time to call it a day. I'll see y'all again on Tuesday and then we can finally finish this song."

He's never felt a more collective breath of relief.

"See you, Mr. Chang!" A couple of the kids say to him. The chorus is genuinely endearing.

Mike's only been handling the children's class for the summer, but there hasn't been a day that he leaves the studio without smiling. He finds that he's actually dreading the end of the summer when he'll have to let these kids go. The feeling may be mutual, as several of the children take turns hugging him before they leave.

"Jamie, don't forget your water bottle! And your shoes, Mei!" He calls after a few of the kids, making sure that they leave nothing on the floor or in the cubbyholes. The beginner's choreography class is taking over this studio after lunch and Mike knows three other people with the exact same water bottle as Jamie.

He swipes a towel across his forehead.

Children have a _lot_ of energy and it's disappointing that that still hasn't rubbed off on Mike despite his years of dancing and the month that he's been with these kids. He steps up to the barre and starts stretching. There's an audible _crack_ when he rolls his neck around and he can feel his heart pound its way back to its resting rate. His body, however, is still a little sore.

You'd think after dancing for almost a decade, he would adjust to the physical exertion. All he can do is tolerate it a little better.

He's rolling his shoulders back when he sees someone through the mirror.

Marian Wen is one of the many young Asian-Americans in the studio, a student at Joffrey as well as a regular at the studio. She was formerly one of Mike's students in the regular choreography class, until he was assigned to the children's. (The only reason the studio has a children's class is because of a singular complaint about the adult nature of some choreographies.)

Marian and a couple of her friends used to stay over after Mike's classes to talk with him, which is something Mike appreciates. He learned early on in school that staying after and asking your instructor how to get better really saves months of trial and error in the future.

Of course, Marian and her friends probably also had other things in mind then, considering how _intently_ she's watching him do his cool-down stretches right now. 'Hungry' is the most accurate way to describe it.

"Marian!" Mike looks over his shoulder as he props his leg up on the barre, feeling the tug on his quadriceps. "What's up? Isn't regular in Studio B today?"

She scratches her ear and steps carefully into the studio. "Yeah, we just wrapped up. I saw you here on my way out and I wanted to talk to you."

(Points for boldness, at least.)

Marian can't be asking for feedback since Mike hasn't seen any of her recent dancing. And he doesn't handle the regular dance choreography class anymore. "How's the new instructor?"

As far as Mike knows and is concerned, he lost the regular class through schedule conflicts and because of a new instructor joining the studio. Josephine Salvador, from his limited observation during nights out with his co-workers, is not horrible after a few drinks; and whatever she lacks in patience, she makes up for by being a great choreographer and dancer.

"Josie's okay, I guess," Marian replies as she approaches the barre. "Her footwork is a lot less complicated than yours, but she doesn't let us sit down and rest that much."

He laughs. "I lost the regular class because I gave y'all too many breaks, huh? At least I still have the advanced class. If you're up to the challenge, I'll be back to giving you complicated footwork and more breaks."

His tone is joking, but Marian bites her lip at the comment. It should clear at this point exactly why Mike was removed as instructor of the regular class, even if it isn't clear to Mike himself. Josie Salvador joining the studio is only a convenient excuse.

"Regular class really misses you though," Marian shrugs.

Mike claps the girl lightly on the shoulder, mostly to help himself balance as he stands on one leg. "Aw. I miss y'all too. But between children's, advanced and pop-up choreography on weekends, I don't think I'm allowed to take on more classes."

Not to mention a few projects here and there, and the occasional Skype call with Brittany to remotely choreograph a routine for her show. Thankfully, his trips to Lima are limited now that school's out for the summer and there aren't any performances he has to help with.

"What's your least busiest day so we can meet?" Marian asks, then splutters after realizing how it sounds. Either her fumble is not as obvious as she thinks it is, or Mike is just dense. "I mean, there's some choreo that Alex wants to swing by you, and some of us in regular class do really miss you… But only if you want to!"

Now, we might not be giving Mike enough credit. He isn't sure if Marian _does_ actually have a crush on him (and talent crushes _are_ a very real thing) and while he's nice, he doesn't want to accidentally encourage anything. Rachel and Mr. Schue are a cautionary tale enough.

But Mike is a nice guy, and a mentor at heart. "How about next Thursday? 3 PM, at Studio C."

Marian nods absently and licks her lips. She's probably wondering why she never thought to ask this earlier. "Okay. Okay, that's works. Thursday is good."

"Great. I'll see you then," he confirms as he picks up his towel on the floor.

Marian is already rushing out of the studio. It's high time he start doing the same. He does technically still have a class later, but that's still later that evening. Which means he has a good several hours of downtime left to his Saturday afternoon. He fixes the laces on his shoes and leaves the studio.

* * *

**The last time Tina had been in Chicago**, she realizes, was back in her junior year for show choir Nationals. (And one close call where she stopped the car halfway out of Ohio for reasons she's since repressed.)

Filming began a few weeks ago, which keeps her busy enough that she can't go out to see the city.

That's a lie.

The production schedule for the show is fairly rigid. Every episode is given eight days to film, running Monday to Friday. Though it rarely happens, sometimes they break into a Saturday to get everything done for the week, mostly with volunteer crew. Today, it's because the location is only available for a limited time. Locations are arranged in advanced; cast, directors and crew are scheduled too, and standard contracts require they be paid even if production is cancelled.

Overall, the best job Tina's gotten in a while. And it's very kind to her calendar. She just spends most of her free time in the gym—it's a very demanding role—or in the apartment that the network rented out for some of the cast. She hangs out with her castmates sometimes, given that they live together. But when her cast/roommates go out on weekends, she doesn't join them.

Mostly, she spends her time on the phone with her friends. She's been talking with Blaine and Artie so many times that you'd think Blaine wasn't gay and married, or that she and Artie were still together.

Breaking it off with Artie may have originally started as a precaution, since she's never been big on long-distance relationships. It was their distance when she went to Asian Camp that killed their relationship the first time and she's credited that specific summer as why long-distance relationships have never worked since. But, looking back at this past month, they made much better friends than lovers. (She can say that about almost all of her past relationships, huh.)

"Tina?" There's a knock at the trailer door.

Her train of thought breaks, and the phone she's had pressed against her mouth slams into her teeth in surprise. Tina wipes the lipstick off the edge of her phone case.

"Are you asleep?" It's Isabel, the 2nd AD in charge of the trailer park.

Tina sits up straighter, suddenly attentive. "What?"

Izzy laughs. "We couldn't squeeze your scenes in for today, but we aren't really supposed to be working Saturdays anyway. Thankfully, we do not 100% need this location for them. Anyway, most of the crew is already headed home, so just sign out here and you'll get your call sheet for Monday maybe tomorrow night. Your scenes have been pushed up to first thing."

Internally, Tina groans, as would be the appropriate response to early Monday morning call times. "Thanks, Iz."

"I'm going to go call a car for you." Isabel takes the sheet back from Tina. "Do you want any advice on where to go?"

"My apartment?"

Izzy sets her clipboard down on Tina's table. "It is a beautiful Saturday today and I really do not want to send you back to the apartment. You are going to go crazy before March if you keep throwing yourself in and out of set."

Normally, Tina would react differently. But they've been on set since last night. No one deserves any sass after that. "What makes you think I'm just going to stay in the apartment the whole time?"

The reply sounds practiced. "Some of the cast talk when they're in the makeup chair. I won't knock on your habits, but you never striked me as a shut-in."

It's probably ironic that Tina was thinking about that just before Izzy came in. "Well, their taste in tourist traps can be really tacky."

"As it would be, since the boomers of the cast are deciding where everyone goes," Isabel holds her palms up.

"Shouldn't you be talking to one of the people who actually goes out, then?"

She shakes her head. "Talking to you about it is a two-birds-one-stone approach. There's also a third bird from a visiting exec about how the city is at the heart of the show, and you need to go method and embrace it, but we're not throwing stones at that one."

Extended metaphors. Nice.

"Well, I can't promise you anything," Tina replies. "But, do you know where I can get some coffee around here, that isn't Starbucks or… this?" She shakes the empty coffee cup on her table.

Izzy takes the cup in Tina's hand and dumps it in the trash bin behind her. "I really need someone to complain about the coffee here. It really could be better." She pulls out a scrap piece of paper and scribbles away. "Now, there's this place nearby that I get my coffee from before I go to work. I think you'll like it."

"You're not gonna push about me and the cast going out and embracing the city?"

"Baby steps, Miss Cohen-Chang." Izzy hands the paper to Tina. "Now get out of here. We don't have overtime pay."

* * *

**Mike doesn't see the Jeep parked out** front when he turns the corner around his street. Anne's not home. (The Jeep does technically belong to Mike. They just agreed some time ago that she probably needs the car more for her work than he does.)

He kicks his shoes off as soon as he gets inside, leaving them on the steps that lead down to the living room and kitchen. "Hey," he pulls the screen door closed, expecting Chaplin to come running up to him. Chaplin does not. Mike continues to the kitchen, where he finally finds his dog in a pen by the refrigerator. "There you are."

Chaplin hops up on the wall of the pen when Mike comes into view, and growls knowing that someone is there to see him and _maybe_ let him out. That's probably the loudest you can get out of the dog. Mike crouches down to rub Chaplin's head. "How long have you been all by yourself in here, huh? Anne locked you up again."

One of these days, Anne is going to try and steal his dog. She already pushes it by taking Chaplin on outdoor shoots with her, but no matter how much food she gives him under the table, as long as she keeps trapping Chaplin in a pen when she doesn't want him running around the house, Chaplin will loyally still be Mike's dog.

Chaplin rolls over enough for Mike to graduate to belly rubs, and he struggles to catch Mike's hand with either paws or teeth. Mike allows his hand to be used as a chew toy for a while, considering that he's going to go take a shower anyway. Chaplin's tail is waving hard enough to knock out an unsuspecting victim.

He takes his hand back. Chaplin whimpers, still hopeful that Mike will return and so he stays there lying on his back and pawing at the air. Mike is no expert on the emotional depth of dogs, and the look Chaplin is giving him really reminds him of the day he found Chaplin outside the studio—though less matted and a lot cleaner now. One thing is the same, and it's that everything about Chaplin right now screams _please pick me up_.

Mike does not pick him up.

He does open the pen to let Chaplin go about the first floor. Don't expect Chaplin to run around, though. He's a very lazy dog, as far as dogs go, and much prefers to lie on the couch whenever Mike or Anne is around. That's exactly where Chaplin goes next, struggling and eventually jumping up on the couch to make a chew toy out of a throw pillow. Mike goes upstairs to run a shower.

He doesn't realize how sore his muscles are until he steps under the hot water. He squeezes the sponge, making rivulets of warm water wash over his shoulders and down his back, scrubbing gently across his tense muscles. A vague scent of orange blossoms swirls around him, as he runs the sponge down his arm and over each finger.

He reaches his other arm around his back to move the sponge to his left hand, as he then proceeds to scrub his lower back. (Most people don't trust that his arms are flexible enough to meet between his shoulder blades; something about how 'his muscles would get in the way.') It is kind of a waste for him to be taking a shower this diligently, but his pop-up class won't be until later tonight and he prefers feeling fresh.

He comes back running a towel over his damp hair to find that Chaplin is still positioned on the couch, though no longer attacking the pillows. Mike and Chaplin lounge together on the couch while Mike checks his email, then ends up on Instagram. It's, all in all, a very mundane moment. A very mundane few hours.

Mike has never been very good at sitting still for very long, though. He thinks about going for a walk or something. Better yet, maybe a cup of coffee. (Or tea, in his case. He gave up on coffee the day he graduated college.)

After thinking about it and then probably procrastinating for a good couple of minutes, he gives Chaplin a farewell belly rub and leaves. He would take the dog with him, but then he would end up just carrying him around. Chaplin really isn't big on being active and would prefer to just lay on the couch, so that's exactly where Mike leaves him. Besides, getting a drink at the coffee shop shouldn't take too long anyway, and it isn't far a walk.

Wedged between a gallery space and a bookstore is a coffee shop that Mike used to frequent when he was studying, and he wasn't in a dance studio. The place caters mostly to the art college kids who jam too loudly and too frequently for the Starbucks around the corner. Mike counts about five or six of them outside, juniors or sophomores, huddled around a laptop. One of them idly strums an acoustic guitar.

He used to be one of those kids.

It's busy for a Saturday summer afternoon, and Mike can see the barista Kevin behind the counter looking like he wants nothing more than for every single college-age customer in the shop to disappear. More because of the volume of them, not the impromptu performances.

Mike and Kevin only know each other by proxy, through serial socializer Anna Lee Tan; but when Kevin sees him walk into the coffee shop, he's already picking out a cup from the stack and writing another creative variation to 'Mike.' Messing up people's names is one of the few joys that he finds in his work. "Mikyle," Mike reads out the label on the cup.

Kevin shrugs. "I ran out of weird ways to spell Mike, so I'm using Michael now."

As soon as Mike steps out of the shop, somebody eggs on the group outside to start something, and Mike considers that he has time to sit down and watch. He finds a table close to the cooling system so he can enjoy both the summer afternoon sunlight and a little cool air. He watches briefly as the group fiddles around with their things.

An all too familiar song starts to play, and a smile tugs on Mike's lips as fond memories come to mind.

* * *

**The barista at the coffee shop** goes out of his way to make sure that Tina's name is spelled wrong. It only has four letters; the act is deliberate. But the coffee is a step up from what they had on set today, so 'Deena' isn't going to complain. The iced coffee in her hands is a welcome refreshment as she steps out into the summer air.

She's basically in the Chicago equivalent of the Lima Bean, had it been taken over by the Glee Kids more often. This is only confirmed when she hears the faint notes of Don't Stop Believing coming from outside.

First, Tina takes in the fact that there are people covering a Journey song in 2020. It's an unlikely moment, but she's in it now and Mr. Schue would be ecstatic to hear it. She pulls out her phone to take a video, though the sound is a bit muffled by the glass and the sound of coffee machines whirring, so she steps out to get a better sound quality.

She watches the group jam and make silly dance moves from within their chairs while two kids play the guitar and drum along the edge of the wrought-iron tables with what's either a pair of chopsticks or their own drumsticks. Either option comes with its own set of questions. It feels heartwarming to watch though, like seeing her high school glee club from an outside perspective.

The performance ends with a flourish and some applause from the customers outside. Tina isn't the only one who stepped out to watch, but most of the other customers look unbothered by the sudden show. It must be a regular thing around here. Tina can see the appeal of this place. Hopefully they don't always do Journey songs, because that feels like a really dry setlist for a café that's apparently frequented by a young crowd.

The moment of organized jamming disperses into scattered harmonizing while the guy on the guitar plays half-songs and random chords. Tina takes a sip of her coffee as she sends Kurt and Artie the video, though it might take time before Artie sees it because he's probably just gotten to set for an Australian morning call time. Is it morning in Australia right now? It probably is.

Her concentration is broken when she decides to spare the group another glance, and she's surprised to see a familiar figure some tables behind them. Though really, this is something she should have expected. In a city of this many people, it can be both unlikely and inevitable that two people will run into each other.

She sees him in front of her, sitting at a table alone and unaware that she's right there in front of him and they were both just enjoying the same performance. He looks much the same, maybe a little older, a little surer, but otherwise the same. He's occasionally shadowed behind the people in the tables in front of him, but she doesn't need to get a clear look at his face to see the set of his jaw or the brown of his eyes especially under the sun. Tina knows this boy, this man, just as well as she knows herself.

Now she's tilting her head to get another angle of view. He's more handsome than she's allowed herself to remember. He's wearing a white long-sleeved shirt hiding the muscles he most likely still has. What's he doing sitting alone? Maybe he's waiting for another person. A girl, maybe. (Or a boy. Given Tina's history, she wouldn't hold it against him.)

There's a small part of Tina, probably the sane one, that says she should just go. She already has her coffee. Maybe she'll ask a PA to get her coffee from this place if they ever film nearby again. If she leaves now, Mike Chang won't have to know that Tina is even there. He would never have to know that she walked away again.

But it's been five years since she last spoke to him—like _actually_ spoke to him. Old texts and birthday greetings don't count anymore.

Tina curses herself silently that she didn't register the fact that he lived in Chicago as information that would be important to her. She's supposed to be pretty in the loop about her friends in Glee Club. (Some would say it's concerning that she hasn't outgrown the Glee Club. Some would be named Blaine Anderson.)

She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, standing a little straighter. She considers calling out his name, but thinks the better of it. Yelling someone's name at a coffee shop is counterintuitive, even if they are outside. Maybe just walking up to him will do.

"Mind if I sit?" Tina asks with a convincing confidence. She's an actress. This is what she's good at. She went totally method for years with a fake stutter. Confidence is easy.

Mike waves his hand dismissively with a short glance up. "I don't mind. Sure—" He either trails off, or Tina's senses just completely shut down. She hasn't been this close to Mike in years and honestly this would be enough to overwhelm her. And him too, it seems.

He doesn't say anything, only stares at her. She can't blame him for that. This was exactly her reaction not half a minute ago standing by the door of the coffee shop. They had only maintained a Facebook-level of awareness of each other over the years and were not prepared for either of them to be here.

She smiles, and any other feeling in her chest dissolves. "Mike."

"Hey." He says across the table, a greeting five years overdue.


	3. sing it even so

_and here we are back again  
__frozen in place  
__feeling and looking the same_

**After a few misplaced blinks**, Mike seems to come back to himself. Then, he's standing up and wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her hair and breathing her in. He pulls back ever so slightly and takes a deep centering breathe. "How have you been?"

She takes a seat, settling herself on it gracefully or as gracefully as she can. "I'm okay." She gives him a smile, and he answers with a small grin of his own. She doesn't know what else to say to him. Nothing seems right for this moment.

There's a palpable silence as neither of them say anything, content only to study the other. "You went back to brown… black," he says finally. "Your hair."

She pulls a lock of said hair forward and blows it back out of her face. She'd slowly been transitioning into blonde over time, but dyed it back for the role. "Honestly, I'm still getting used to it again."

"It's natural. And I think you look pretty either way." He's always so open with his compliments. Is she blushing? She feels like she's blushing.

"Thanks." She curls a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture of shyness.

Mike crosses his arms over the edge of the table, and a little bit of Tina is grateful that he's wearing long sleeves. "What brings you to Chicago?"

"Work." She pretends to play with the lid of her coffee. "There's a show that's filming here. Legally, I'm not allowed to say too much about it."

He nods. "Alright. Don't want you breaking a contract just because I'm curious. Though I do wanna know, is anyone else here? Any cast or crew that we both know?" The Glee Club has always been consistent at hiring each other around in a circle. "Or hey, what about Artie?"

(Need anyone forget that Mike Chang and Artie Abrams were good friends, too.)

"I don't know about that one." Tina quirks her head to the side. "He'd love to visit, but he's in Australia right now for a movie. Besides, he and I aren't together right now."

Mike quirks his eyebrows but doesn't say anything.

"I have a bad history with long-distance, as _you know_," Tina gestures. This really isn't the question he asked, but she's always been used to opening up to Mike even out of nowhere. "I can survive a few months, honestly. But after Australia, he has to head off to Budapest and then Hong Kong, and then other places I can't remember anymore."

"That sounds like my mom's retirement plan."

"It does," she continues. "But like _your dad_'s retirement plan, I will be staying in the same city the whole time because of filming for the show. Artie and I were heading in different directions, and I… I don't trust myself with long-distance. We decided to take some time off."

He takes her answer in with a small nod, his lips pursed. "That's your decision."

Tina looks at him skeptically. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just… Okay, I didn't mean anything by that. I'm just bad at talking." Mike recollects himself. "How are things between you two?" Tina remembers once upon a summer at the docks of Asian Camp, she had confided in this boy about her troubles with another.

"We're friends," she promises. Mike looks like he's about to say something more but Tina interrupts. "No, I mean it. It's good, Mike. Artie and I are friends, and being friends feels right. It feels like where we're supposed to be."

"Okay." His voice is small as she nods; his smile even smaller. (He wants to say something about how being friends is where they're supposed to be, too. It just doesn't feel right to say it knowing that they've been very bad at being friends recently.) "How long will you be in Chicago?"

She bites her lip as she tries to remember the answer. "Until March. Then from there, I have no idea."

"But what about before that? What were you up to?" There's a three-year gap between the last time they spoke and then today. That leaves a lot of little blanks to fill, and they do the best they can.

They talk and keep talking, about anything and everything and nothing at all. They trade stories and memories, uncovering tidbits and things that happened in the years that they'd lost touch, with people they knew and names that they didn't. The performance group close to them provide a gentle soundtrack to the scene.

Tina gets surprisingly animated when he brings up Hamilton.

"You were in Hamilton. How come I didn't know that?"

"Hamilton San Francisco before I moved here. I was only in the show for a couple months," he shrugs. "My biggest role was James Reynolds."

"Still! Rachel would kill to do Hamilton, but she can't because she's white."

"Didn't Jesse St. James originate King George?" Mike points out. "The same Jesse St. James who Rachel married and is also white?"

She rolls her eyes. "Why did you leave the show anyway? Contract?"

"No," Mike shakes his head. "I just… I don't know. Dancing other people's stuff, and not choreographing. It was fun and I loved doing it but it really felt like a job then. At least now when I'm teaching at the studio, even if it's never going to pay as well as I could get if I join the right company, at least it's like I'm _doing_ something. It's a job, but it's also not. You know?"

"I think I do," she replies. It comes out quieter than she means it to. "But you _will_ teach me the choreography of Yorktown, right?"

He breathes out a laugh. "If we're both not busy. I think I can find time to show you how it goes."

Somewhere during their discussion, Mike had moved his seat closer to her edge of the table, leaning forward and gesturing with his hands to tell a story. When she speaks, he listens intently. He always did.

It's fascinating how easily they fall back into this old pattern, picking up right where they left off as if it didn't matter that they haven't spoken in three years. She doesn't know how long they sit there; their drinks long empty and their conversation continuous.

The two of them chat for hours, taking the longest trip down memory lane as well as catching each other up on their lives. The afternoon sun is getting sleepier in the sky. Certainly one of the best afternoons she's spent in this city in a long time. (Second only to winning Nationals. But holding on to old high school achievements is dumb.)

"We should get out of here," Mike smiles. "Unless you want me to buy you another cup of coffee?"

She shakes her head. "I… I should probably get going. I wasn't supposed to stay this long anyway."

"Oh," he nods slowly. She doesn't ignore the note in his voice, reminding her that it's a stupid waste of time to pretend not to miss him. "Yeah, absolutely."

Mike throws both of their cups out and together they walk up to the corner of the street, silent for the moment. It's odd how his silence doesn't make her uncomfortable or desperate to find words to fill it. "I'm headed this way," he points to right behind her. "You?"

She points to the opposite direction. "I'm over here."

Different directions again.

His eyes reflect the sleepy afternoon sun; proof that brown eyes can be beautiful. Somehow, he seems to embody everything she's missed in the past five years. Her best friend, this boy, this part of her that she would always miss, even when he's standing right next to her.

They're both older now, hopefully wiser, too. Maybe this time, they can make their friendship work.

"Can I call you sometime?" He asks with a smile. "Show you around the city maybe."

She lets out a breath she didn't know she's been holding.

"Yeah, I'd like that." She shoves her hands into her pockets. "It was good seeing you again."

Mike mirrors her movement. They feel like teenagers on a first date. "You too."

This is silly. They're both adults. But her heart won't stop pounding in her ears. For a minute, she thinks that he might lean in and kiss her. But he doesn't. Instead he just gives her a crooked grin and waves sheepishly, walking backwards to look at her as he disappears around a corner.

She lets out a soft laugh at herself, then turns around.

* * *

**It's nearly 10 PM by the time** Mike gets back home from his pop-up class at the studio. Anne is at the dining table, sitting cross-legged on a chair and a laptop open on the table in front of her. The light of the laptop screen reflects off of her glasses. She raises her head when she notices him come in. "Hey! Have you eaten?"

"I ate a while ago." He toes his shoes off. "You?"

"Already had dinner. Then Chaplin and I went to the park after," she reports. "Don't wake him up."

He sees Chaplin sleeping soundly by one of the throw pillows on the couch as he walks past the living room. "How was the rehearsal?" He drags his hand over Chaplin lightly and walks into the kitchen, to pour himself some tea. There's always tea when someone comes home.

"The lighting at the reception area is a nightmare, so there's a lovely date for me and Lightroom in the near future," Anne huffs her discontent. "How about you? I saw you took Chaplin out of the pen. Lazy afternoon on the couch with the dog before heading to the studio?"

Mike pulls a seat from the dining table. "Chap shouldn't be in the pen too long, you know. And that's not how my afternoon went."

She purses her lips. "Saving the good stuff for another conversation, are we? I'll respect that." If she means anything by that, Mike doesn't catch it.

They talk a bit more while he finishes his tea. He listens to Anne's story about the odd set of bridesmaids and groomsmen at the rehearsal dinner earlier that day, or at least he tries to listen. He can't stay concentrated and is close to zoning out. All the talk about weddings lets his mind wander to other wedding he attended, and specifically one in Indiana. Then his thoughts wander back to earlier that afternoon at the café.

Tina was, if nothing else, the best friend he ever had. Anne is wonderful and he loves her like a sister, but family can't fill in all the gaps of friends. Plus, being around Anne means having to talk more times than he's built for.

It's nice to have someone who can read his silence just as well as his words.

"Mike, are you still here?" Anne says all of a sudden, snapping her fingers in front of him. His head whips up, and he realizes she's looking at him pointedly.

"Sorry. I was just—"

"Thinking, I know. And I was talking." Anne sighs. "Is something bothering you?"

He takes another sip of his tea, but finds that it's empty. That's disappointing. "Nothing bothers me. Why do you think that?"

She pushes her glasses up her nose and narrows her eyes at him. "Well, I was going to be nice and let you tell me on your own, but you are preoccupied and I'm _really_, really curious." She leans over the table and snatches his tea cup, knocking over a clementine from the fruit bowl at the center of the table.

"Are you serious?" He looks at his cousin in disbelief.

Anne sneers at him. "Sit still and shut up, Mikey. Let me have this."

He sighs. Mike has been living with Anne for over a year now; the best course of action is usually to let her indulge in her own quirks. He adjusts his legs under the table and watches attentively as Anne studies the residue ginger tea at the bottom of his tea cup.

She hums. "I see a face, but I can't quite… make it out. There's a name, too."

"A name." Mike repeats skeptically.

"Mmhmm. A name." She barely looks at him and she rotates the teacup in her hands, peering closer. "I think it says Tessa. No… that's not it. Tara?" Then she raises her head and looks him dead in the eye, all amusement concentrated in her expression. "Tina. That's it."

Mike confiscates his teacup from his cousin, who clearly just wanted to do a drawn-out a tea reading bit. "That's enough of that."

"Oh, come _on_." There isn't even the least bit of guilt in her voice. "You know I'm right though, right? You were thinking about this Tina whoever she may be? No use deflecting, by the way. I know you were with her today."

"You could have led with that. Why does it matter to you?"

"Because nothing interesting ever happens to you." Anne pulls her leg up on the chair so she can place her chin up on her knee. "Now, who's Tina?"

"How do you even know about that?"

Anne exaggerates a sigh. "Kevin texted me. Apparently, you spent hours at the coffee shop with some girl he doesn't know. Said her name was Tina. Of course, the only Tina in your life that I know is Tina Boo, and she's currently in Seoul so it must be someone else. Now, do you have any other questions or will you answer mine now?"

Their gazes lock, hers stubborn and challenging with the knowing smile that she's already won this conversation. Mike sighs. "Tina is an old friend."

"Obviously. Joffrey, Juilliard or McKinley?"

"McKinley. She and I were—"

"—in Glee Club together. I should have guessed." That's not actually what Mike was going to say, but it's accurate enough. "There's definitely more history than that, though. Did you like her or something? Like-like, maybe?"

The question is so unlike Anne, and at the same time exactly something she would say. He picks up the fallen clementine and throws it at her. He was going to tell her about his history with Tina, but after the interrupting and light mockery, he decides to hold it off for now. "What are you, twelve?"

She tucks her body into a brace position on instinct as the clementine sails through the air. "He says, throwing fruit after being lightly teased," she squeals. "Come on. It was a serious question."

"Not when you say 'like-like'. That's for eight-year-olds."

Anne isn't usually the type to be one-track-minded. But she can be surprisingly stubborn. "Let me rephrase then. Did you _like_ her?"

"We used to date." He shares this with a sense of abruptness and plucks a less bruised clementine from the bowl, either for eating or for future ammunition. He decides on eating.

Anne has a contemplating expression on, but only for a second, before she looks at him with another grin in her face. "Oh my god, is she the girl you kept texting when we were at Huntington Beach three years ago? The one who got away."

Mike stops peeling the clementine to stare at his cousin blankly. "Four years ago. And she's not 'the one who got away'."

"Uh huh." Anne nods, not taking his word for it. "Well, she must be something, if you can hold a conversation with her for hours immediately after running into her."

"There's a lot to catch up on." Mike shrugs. "And like I said, Tina and I are friends. We had some good times together."

Anne squints. "Okay, but _how_ good were those good times? Like tie-on-the-doorknob good?"

"On the doorknob," he rolls his eyes. "On the shower handle, on her mother's rosebushes—"

"Okay, okay," she cuts him off. "I'm pushing too far, I get it. I'm sorry."

Mike gives her a tiny smile in exchange for her apology. "It's okay." He sighs. "All I know is that she meant a lot to me."

"So what's she doing in Chicago?"

"Filming, for a show." Mike doesn't fail to catch the new gleam in Anne's eyes when he says that.

"You Glee people and your performance art," she shakes her head softly. "Of course she'd be an actress." Her fingers drum absently on the table. "Why don't you call her?" Her voice is uncharacteristically soft and the way she's looking at him is serious enough to be uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Call her." Anne repeats. "Think about it, Mikey. This girl literally walks back into your life, five years since you've last seen her. Little less since you've talked, but potato-potato." (She doesn't pronounce the two 'potatoes' any differently.) "This is a big city, and an even bigger country. What are the odds for something like that to happen? Not to mention, _she_ walked up to you. She didn't have to do that."

She stands up and finds the fallen clementine that Mike threw at her earlier, dropping it back into the bowl. "Give her a call."

"Okay, fine. I will," Mike relents, even though he did promise and already planned on calling Tina eventually. Sometimes, you just have to give Anne what she wants you to say. "Later. Maybe in the morning."

Anne pats his shoulder twice. "I'll hold you to it. Now, don't stay up too late."

* * *

**Tina and Artie might no longer be a couple** by any standards, but she doesn't lie when she says that they're still friends. (It's ironic, really, how most of the men she's ever liked would still be able to make it on her Christmas list.) And when it comes to friends, Tina will always answer a phone call. Even when she's just about ready to go to bed.

"Did I wake you?"

Tina shakes her head as she holds her phone up over her head. "No. I'm in bed, but I wasn't sleeping." She sounds tired though. More from the long day at work, because it's not really not that late. "How was your day?"

He sighs. "It was a surprise rain day, in the middle of a non-rainy season." Artie tells his tale of how the heavens opened up upon his poor, damp little shoot. "Twenty percent chance of rain, and the world was making the most of it. But other than that, it was okay. How about you?"

"Well, the coffee was terrible and one of my co-stars got duct-taped to her trailer as a prank, so our scene started late." Artie has listened to her vent about work many enough back in LA. She's still not 100% he listens to her every time, but that won't really stop her. Venting is venting. "Not to mention that it's Saturday. The location is booked until September now, and it's apparently better on everyone's schedules to get everything over with this week."

They keep talking, or at least she does, but it's some time before she actually brings up the more important things about today. "And I ran into Mike. Mike Chang."

Artie's response is almost immediate. "Did you propose to him?"

"Did I— what?" Tina takes a little bit longer to absorb what he just said. "No, I did not propose to him!"

"It was worth asking." He replies. "I still have my reservations about asking someone you're not even dating to marry you. You two have my blessing though."

"Artie…" She doesn't have anything else to say, but hopefully the tone of her voice will tell him that she doesn't want to discuss this. She knows where he's going with this, and it's a place she isn't too sure she wants to visit with an ex.

"We're friends, Tina," Artie says. It's not clear if he means him and Tina, or him and Mike. Both apply, probably. "I'm trying to be supportive."

She hesitates. "It's not like anything happened. We just ran into each other at a café and talked. Catching up. It's been years, but Mike and I are still friends. Just like you and me. I'm not going to tell you I'm not happy to have him in my life again. I'm thrilled. But I don't want anything more than that."

Hopefully, Artie drops it from here. She doesn't see a big point in the discussion. As far as she's concerned, friends is all they're ever going to be, and Artie's grilling is not going to change that.

It doesn't even matter what he believes. It's not any of his business.

Artie seems to accept her answer and sighs, but not without giving her a patronizing _how little you know_ look. "You deserve to be happy with someone, you know."

"I know." Tina smiles. "And if that right guy walks into my life, I will be more than happy to. But I don't want to force something that isn't there, or ruin whatever we could have now on something that isn't going to work."

Artie nods. "Well, at least now you know that proposing out of nowhere isn't a good idea. If you change your mind though, I want to know about it."

"If I do decide to throw everything away on something that won't work, I'll be sure to let you know," she agrees. "I'm not sure if we can still get married if you have me committed though."

"I keep my promises, girl. I'll find a way," he says. "Anyway, it's late there and you should really get some sleep." She knows he's right as her eyes feel like drooping down.

"It's not my fault you call every night." Tina teases softly. "I just can't get rid of you. You're lucky I don't have filming tomorrow after you've kept me up all night."

"You really think Blaine's not going to call you first thing in the morning after I tell him all about this? You're optimistic." Artie laughs. "I'm going to end this call now, or else you're never going to bed."

"I'm already in it," she sticks her tongue out.

"Goodnight, Tina."

He hangs up before she gets the opportunity to fall asleep on him.

True enough, Blaine does call in the morning, though not as early as Artie had predicted. It is early enough that Tina has brewed herself a mediocre cup of coffee, but not so early that anyone else in the apartment has already woken up to brew their own mediocre cups of coffee.

Blaine looks like he needs his own mediocre cup of coffee, more than a little under the weather thanks to the little one in his arms.

The only reason they're talking over a video call is because he wants to show off his newborn daughter, who's swaddled and sleeping in Blaine's hold. Tina remembers and now empathizes with how much Mike felt not being there for his nephew's birth a couple years ago. It must be a similar feeling with when Lizzie came a few weeks ago.

"Good morning, Tee," Blaine greets. "Why did I wake up to a text from Artie about you and Mike Chang?"

There's so much missing from that question that Tina has to break it down individually to explain. "I was going to tell you last night, but I didn't want to disturb you in case you were asleep or with Lizzie, or with Kurt."

Also, she didn't know how to tell Blaine about it. Which is directly tied to the fact that Blaine was once one of the most earnest supporters of her and Mike in the past. And though Blaine has never really said anything about Mike other than the brief mention of Carnegie Hall last year, Tina knows that they've been in contact over the years. (For reasons Tina doesn't know, like Mike's love life.)

"Please don't use my daughter to distract me," Blaine warns. His whole look would be something fearsome if not for the bags under his eyes and the baby he's holding on. "But thank you for the concern. Now. Mike?"

"I ran into him at the coffee shop. The one in the video I sent you, with the kids singing Don't Stop Believing."

"And?"

"Well, apparently he was in the San Francisco production of Hamilton a few years ago."

That isn't what Blaine is asking, but Tina is both really fascinated by that information as well as trying to avoid this entire discussion, so she shares it anyway. (Blaine already knows this though. Weirdly enough because his mother told him. Pam Anderson and the mother of Mike's now-ex-girlfriend but still girlfriend at the time were friends. Filipinos in Ohio. What can be done?)

Blaine continues fishing. "And?"

"And what? There isn't anything more to tell." Tina takes a quick sip of coffee, burning her tongue in the process of trying to hide behind the mug.

"Oh, please. There is always more to tell. Last time you saw him, you proposed. You had a ring and everything. So I'm asking, and?" Why does everyone keep bringing up the proposal?

Tina exhales. "There _really_ isn't anything more to tell. We're friends. We caught up. End of story. It's that simple."

He considers Tina's words for a moment. "Mike was your best friend," he gives her a meaningful look. "But Tee, he's your ex too."

Tina knows that. Can't she just be with Mike and laugh and have a good time as friends, without the complications of history or friends who want to bring up that history? If she can't have that, why have Mike in her life at all. Her tone is quiet and reflective when she finally continues. "I'm mature enough to admit that I loved him once upon a time. I mean, I still do in a way."

She looks at Blaine and tries to just his response through the screen. "That's one of the things about you. You never really stop loving people. I mean, look at you and Artie."

"Well, this is different than it is with Artie," she explains. "I mean… I don't know what I mean. Right now though I wish Mike and I had never been together so that people can stop having this conversation with me. Can't I just be happy that I have a friend here with me while everyone else is off somewhere doing their own thing?"

(Oh, but anyone with eyes can see that feelings are still there. Blaine knows he's right when he says that Tina never really stops loving people. Until she admits that to herself, Blaine is going to have an awful lot of these conversations with his friend.)

"You're still attracted to him," Blaine then points out, as if it matters.

"I'm attracted to lots of men," Tina counters. "But I mean… you know how Mike looks, right? I know you're married, and Mike's straight, but you're not _blind_."

He chuckles in amusement, because of what she just said. "Oh, you are not entirely caught up with him yet, are you?"

"Why?" She asks with a sudden curiosity. "Did something happen? Blainey…"

Blaine's grins mischievously, but again most of its impact is softened by the fact that he's still holding a baby. "You're going to have to ask Mike about that one. Tell me, did you really never discuss his dating life back when you two were texting it up all the time?"

"No, it's one of those things we didn't talk about. Did you and Mike—no," Blaine is a very committed husband, so it's not about the 'married' part. Then it sinks in. "Oh my god, really?"

He shrugs. "We can't judge college boys for experimenting, Tee. Mike is definitely not straight though."

Tina groans. "How do you even know this?"

"He asked me for advice once," Blaine answers, then gives her a pointed look. "Mike was kind of a forbidden subject with you for a while, so I never said anything. Just in case I brought something up that you weren't ready to hear. Like, you know, Mike having a boyfriend."

"Given my track record, I should have expected it." Tina admits.

Blaine laughs. "Before you start selling me an excuse that it will make being friends easier between you two, he is bi."

Lizzie chooses this moment to wake up. She first stirs in Blaine's arms, and though he expertly tries to calm her down, it leads nowhere. Blaine looks at the screen apologetically. "I'm sorry, Tee. I have to go."

"Give Kurt my love." After a brief exchange of goodbyes, they end the call.

* * *

**Mike's house is somewhere around Near West Side, which is relatively close to where I lived when I was in Chicago (though the house is definitely modeled after the place I lived in.) Also, Chaplin is a shih tzu. Anne is played by Erica Wong; and yes, you will have to deal with her in this fic for a while. Any original characters will only be supporting cast, and most of them will be used sparingly with exception of Mike's family who will be important eventually, in case you didn't pick that up from the whole segment I gave them in the prologue/chapter 1.**

**Thanks for reading ^^**


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